


What Happens in Kingsland, Stays in Kingsland.

by Mx4



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Gen, Hangovers Galore, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vegas marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx4/pseuds/Mx4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Jon Snow manages to go out celebrating Gendry's engagement to Sansa and wakes up hungover and...well, you'll have to read to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes.

The first thing Jon Snow became aware of was a pounding in his head that spoke to a hangover the likes of which only his flatmate Tyrion Lannister could’ve comprehended. Now that he was experiencing a hangover from the other side, Jon almost felt sorry for the times he had let off an airhorn when Tyrion managed to shamble out of his section of the loft apartment they shared, trying to reach the table for breakfast while groaning and refusing to open his eyes like a zombified child’s stunt double.

His scattered brains didn’t let him remember his eyes would be sensitive to the light before he tried to open them in order to figure out what in the seven hells had happened last night. The first sliver of bright sunlight that leaked through his squinted eyelids felt like someone had just taken a scalpel to his corneas. He quickly shut them as tight as he could manage, the groan he wanted to let out dying in his throat as he tried to take stock of where he was.

He couldn’t hear much aside from the air conditioning of the room, maybe a muted bit of background noise from the world outside the window. As he tried to shift his position, he suddenly became aware of a warm weight on his chest, one that seemed to be roughly person shaped. He attempted to catalog all that he could feel by touch, but his brain was only functioning at quarter speed at the moment.

 _Well, I guess that means your hangover is going away then._ His brain snarked in his ex-girlfriend Ygritte’s voice.

 _I do **not** need this right now!_ Jon thought angrily, closed eyes tightening in irritation.

 _Then stop arguing and try thinking Jon Snow. I know it’s not what you’re best at, but give it a shot anyway._ His ingrained smartass reflex fired back, now sounding like Tyrion.

Jon decided he wasn’t going to engage in a juvenile back and forth with voices in his head, ( _And still somehow manage to lose._ the voice of Theon Greyjoy cheerfully added) and so tried to account for all body parts.

 _Ok, head is a check. Eyes, nose, tongue, ears all present and accounted for._ Jon thought, taking a slight breath so as not to disturb whatever or whoever was on him until he had a better idea what was going on.

 _Arms, hands, fingers all present._ He checked off. He idly took note of the feminine left hand whose fingers were laced with his right, their joined hands nearby his head halfway under an errant pillow. His left hand in the meantime rested upon what felt to be an extremely firm and toned rump.

 _Seems almost a shame to not give it a squeeze…No! Bad Jon!! Figure out what’s going on first!_ He thought, mentally giving himself a slap upside the head.

 _Moving on: torso currently weighed down by a…_ he swallowed a bit of drool that had managed to gather in his cotton mouth when he felt the curves of the form pressing on his chest. _…Very…VERY…female body._

This realization led him to the next discovery. Apparently, he had enjoyed the mystery woman’s company quite a bit last night. At least, if his cock’s insistence that it was inside somewhere warm, moist and sinfully tight was in any way accurate. Jon panicked a bit a moment later as he realized that if his other head was feeling all this, than it meant that he was unprotected inside his currently asleep partner. He slowed his racing thoughts, firmly ordering himself to get a move on with figuring out where he was and what was going on.

 _Legs, feet and toes: all there._ he concluded, feeling the silky smooth skin of his companions thighs against his own as her legs on either side of his hips seemed to indicate that she had been kneeling on the bed and that they had possibly fallen asleep in the middle of last night’s festivities. His cock twitched at the errant idea of resuming the party in spite of his hangover, having come to full attention inside the woman atop him.

A few noises of female pleasure escaped her lips onto Jon’s collarbone, telling him she had tucked her head under his chin at some point in the night. For the first time since waking, Jon was grateful to have a bunch of jackhammers pounding and drilling inside his brain since the throbbing in his thinking head worked nicely to counteract the throbbing from his more instinctive head.

His nose told him she smelled good. No cloying perfume to speak of, no overpowering hair or skin products that reached the nose before you even saw the girl. He didn’t know if it was because little Jon ( _Not so little!_ came his inner voice, sounding oddly like his friend Samwell Tarley) was making him a bit biased, but the scent of her body’s natural musk made him feel happy and eager and content and intimate all at once.

 _Ok Jon, enough cataloging. Try thinking. You’re here. Somewhere in the world. Where do you remember being?_ He sternly told himself.

Immediately he had a clear memory of coming to Kingsland, biggest city of sin and debauchery on the entire eastern coast of Westeros. His cousin Sansa and her fiance Gendry had been looking to have their respective bachelor/ette parties to be somewhat fun and before the soon to be happy couple had known it, their friends and family had managed to rope them into doing so over a long weekend at Kingsland. Then he remembered a toast to Gendry: “For willingly tying the knot of his own noose!” as Tyrion had put it before he clinked his glass with the other guys of the bachelor party and then…nothing.

He let out a small groan as even remembering that much hurt his already overtaxed thoughts.

In response he heard a familiar sounding voice mumble: “Just five more minutes, please mum?”

Jon’s eyes slowly started to inch open, the pain of the slicing sunlight barely even a register to his inner thoughts and their panicked refrain of: _Deargodsnodeargodsnodeargodsnodeargodsnodeargodsno_

As they opened fully, he took in the top of the female head just below his own, his eyes watering from the painful overstimulation they were suffering as he took note of the dark glossy hair that came halfway down her neck.

Jon’s throat let out a noise that could most easily be described as a cross between a frog being skewered mid-leap and a dog having its paw unexpectedly trodden upon. As he did so, the girl started to sit up and stretch, groaning in satisfaction as she did so.

The part of Jon’s brain that wasn’t mindlessly panicking took note of how pleasing her breasts and hips were to gaze at now that he could get a full look at them before his eyes took in the face of his recently acquired bedmate.

Her eyes may still have been closed, but he would’ve known his cousin Arya’s smile of satisfaction anywhere. Though, for the life of him, he had certainly never thought to see it in this context.

As her grey eyes opened slowly to look upon his identically colored orbs, a look of shock settled over her face and a squeak normally only heard when a mouse feels its tail get trapped by a cat’s paw emerged from her lips; their slightly swollen state hinting at repeated and passionate use over the course of the evening.

“Jon?” she let out in that same disbelieving squeak, a flush suffusing her cheeks of such an intensity and color it seemed steam might emerge from her ears at any moment.

“Arya?” he answered weakly, his gibbering senses only peripherally noticing that their hands and legs had not moved from their previous positions.

Her inner walls twitched around his member. His lower half responded by jumping a bit inside her as if their bodies didn’t notice or care that they weren’t supposed to be enjoying the position they were currently entangled in. As Arya let out an involuntary stuttering moan at the stirring in both their loins, Jon’s brain decided it couldn’t take any more of this. Figuring that his best option at present was to retreat to a more sane state of unconsciousness and hope the world made more sense when he awoke, Jon Snow fainted.


	2. Occasionally.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after from Arya's perspective.

Arya Stark had never been a heavy drinker. Not even after her mother and father had stopped trying to restrict what she drank and how much once she had proven herself smart and mature enough to attend university.

But now she was waking up to the mother of all sensitivity headaches. Her brain felt like it was pounding enough to make her skull explode. Thankfully, it was dark out when she awoke. Groggily looking around, she couldn’t quite tell where the hell she was. Gingerly holding her head with her right hand, she could barely understand why it was so dark out and how she had gotten here.

Her left hand registered it was entwined with a stranger’s right hand. As she started to sit up, she became extremely aware that the person under her was male and that she had apparently found him very attractive indeed.

 _And why wouldn’t I with equipment like this?_ Her smart-ass instinct replied. Arya’s brain found no objection from either Arya herself or her body. The latter of which was signaling that the way the mystery man fit inside her was, to quote the old story about the warrior and the three blades: just right.

As she shifted minutely on his hips while rubbing her eyes and head with her right hand, she felt his previously unaccounted left hand squeeze her buttcheek. Combined with his member shifting inside her, the sensations tingling through her had Arya let out a noise that could almost be described as a purr, something she hadn’t managed since she had first successfully mapped her own erogenous zones. Whoever she was with had evidently made a very good impression on her body to get such a relatively explicit reaction for such minor effort.

Though her head had started to clear, Arya let out a yawn. As her body started to automatically droop forward, she had a moment of startled realization that she was going back to sleep because this mystery man had managed to wear her out in a way that even Gendry hadn’t after being in a relationship with her for five years.

 _If he’s nice enough, maybe I can see about keeping him around._ She mused to herself before losing consciousness again, her head tucked firmly under the mystery man’s chin and his heartbeat echoing in time with her own.

Her dreams were pleasant and intense in equal measure, alternating between vivid flashes of passion and sweat and moaning and the occasional scream in response to fingers and tongues that were everywhere she wanted them to be before she was filled in the best possible way. Shortly after, her viewpoint was switching to scenes of intimacy that almost made her feel like she never had to worry about anything again, creating an air of contentedness she had scarcely dreamed could exist between two people even in such intimate circumstances.

All too soon she felt the body beneath her stir a bit. She heard him groan, probably still recovering from last night. Still half asleep, Arya jokingly mumbled: “Five more minutes mum.” She was actually fairly curious to see the identity of this mystery man who had been so vigorous as to give her dreams about it so soon after the fact.

 _Maybe he can remind me._ She thought with a mental smirk, feeling his cock come to life inside her as she started to situp. _I certainly wouldn’t object to a second round._

She stretched her back luxuriously, her right hand stretching over her head as her left hand remained entwined with her mystery man’s. She wondered to herself how she should introduce herself. She couldn’t let him get too big an ego just because what bits and pieces she remembered from the night before had made her feel like it was her first time with a guy again. The intimacy and closeness she’d felt in the beginning of her former relationship with Gendry combining with a raw passion she’d never seen in anyone except for her beloved aunt Lyanna and her cousin Jon to create a passionate experience the likes of which she was already itching to re-experience.

As she opened her eyes to the person who she’d had such a wonderful time with, her thought processes ground to a halt, a metaphorical tumbleweed blowing through her currently blank mind as she looked down on the body and face of her cousin Jon: the boy she’d always wished had been her brother, the single family member she could always feel safe turning to when the adults couldn’t understand her and her siblings didn’t want to understand her.

She had originally planned for the first time her lover heard her was to hear the voice of a confident, mature and sexy young woman greeting her bed guest. Instead, her voice entered the air as a shocked and highly embarrassing squeak that she would’ve been mortified for Jon to hear if the situation hadn’t been so ludicrous.

“Jon?” was the only thing she could get out, her nerve endings in every part of her body seeming to acquire a hyper-awareness as to where he was on and in her.

“Arya?” he returned in an equally shell-shocked fashion. As his voice registered in her mind, a cascade of thoughts rushed through her mind all at once.

_Jonsinsideme!Jonhasbeeninsidemeallnight!Jonsexme!Jongreatsex!OhgoditsJonitsJonitsJon!!_

Her tantalizing recollections of the night that were clearer in the light of day now, the kinkiness of her thoughts, the situation they were awoke in...Add the mixing of the previous three circumstances with their bodies involuntary reactions of pleasure to their continued intimacy...The end result was Arya being able to feel every inch of his lower half lurch and leap as her inner walls attempted to coax them both into another romp between the already… **extremely** rumpled and stained sheets.

At the same time a small part of her noticed that Jon lost consciousness again, Arya felt herself let out a staccato moan while her eyes fluttered and her body experienced a moderate orgasm at all the thoughts and sensations rushing through her at once.

When her pleasure died down to manageable levels her hips gave a few abortive jerks before she gingerly pulled herself off of Jon, her quim protesting every inch of the way. She shuddered as Jon’s cock escaped her, deliberately pulling her eyes away from it as it continued to stand at attention: glistening in the light from a combination of her copious feminine juices and remnants of his own sticky seed.

When that observation finally registered, Arya rushed for the bathroom. Jamming the shower into the on position with the temperature set almost to scalding hot, she jumped under, fingers digging inside herself to try and get Jon’s seed out in spite of the flush of heat that came from imagining his hands caressing her sides while he worshipfully kissed her swollen belly.

As she continued to try and scrape out the proof of their incestuous coupling, Arya felt a strange sensation of metal brush her mons with each movement of her fingers. Pulling up her left hand slowly, she spread her fingers out.

There it was as clear as day on her left ring finger. A simple silver marriage band. As she brought it closer to her face, the surreality of the situation increased as she noticed there was an inscription on it that read: ‘Forever Yours’

Needing to confirm a suspicion that had arose as soon as she saw the ring, Arya stumbled out of the shower, failing three times to open the door before succeeding on the fourth time in her haste to get back out to Jon.

As she got over to the bed, she knelt upon it to lean over and look at Jon’s right hand. There it was again, its simple nature seeming to mock her uncomprehending thoughts. She roughly moved his right hand to face palm down so she could see if there was anything written on his as well.

Sure enough, its inscription echoed her own: ‘Forever Yours.’ As she dropped his hand while the still hot water ran both in the bathroom and off her nude body, all that Arya could think half hysterically was: _I can never tell Sansa about this, she’ll never let me live it down._


	3. Usually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pair of newlyweds have a heart-to-heart.

As Jon’s consciousness began to return, he promised himself he would never try to out drink Tyrion again. And that he would never drink again period. Not if it meant hallucinating sleeping with his favorite relative or feeding into the thoughts he had always been so ashamed of having.

As he cautiously lifted his eyelids to confirm he was back in the real world, he couldn’t help but think:

_Well, at least I’d never be so colossally stupid as to really-_

Before he could even finish the mental sentence, his grey eyes beheld his younger cousin sitting beside him on the bed. She was naked, she was glistening and she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

While his mind registered that current evidence suggested he had not in fact hallucinated waking up with his stick lodged firmly inside his best female friend's cave, Jon could see that this was not the time to lose his own head. Not when Arya was so upset that she appeared to be on the edge of hysteria. Letting his instincts developed by years of being her sole confidant and most solid emotional pillar take over, he sat up and drew her into a tender hug. His head very slowly came to rest on her right shoulder as he rubbed her back and whispered in as soothing a voice as he could muster:

“Breathe slowly Arya. I need you to slow down your breathing little sister.”

By force of habit, she leaned into his embrace. Her eyes were dry for now, but her breathing was still too fast for Jon’s liking. So he continued whispering in a soothing voice, making sure his hands were going in slow circles the way he knew she liked.

“It’s alright Arya. I promise you whatever’s happening, we’ll get through it. We’ll get through it and we’ll help each other do so. You understand? So long as we stick together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

He continued murmuring in that same vein for five minutes before he heard her breathing start to slow down to more manageable levels. He drew back slowly like he might from an easily spooked animal, making sure she didn’t panic. He looked her in the eyes, absently noting a flush in her cheeks.

“Now will you please talk to me Arya?” he asked in his gentlest tone, kissing her forehead as he did so. While his eyes were looking just over her head to see the steam emerging from the bathroom and correctly intuiting that Arya had just jumped out of an extremely hot shower, he failed to see her blush grow in proximity to his chest and the intimate contact his lips had initiated just in front of her hairline.

By the time he had drawn back again; her blush was back to a more subdued level, allowing her to pass it off as the steam from the interrupted cleansing should he have asked.

She took a deep breath, stalling for time while she tried to find the words to explain, to tell him what she had just discovered. Jon entwined his right hand with her left in a symbolic attempt to lend her his strength.

She looked down at their hands before looking back up at Jon. Never breaking eye contact with him, she drew their joined hands up into both their lines of sight, the backs of their respective hands facing their individual eye sights.

Jon looked at his own hand. His brain felt like a skipping record as he took note of the silver band that was now prominently displayed on his ring finger. Arya slowly rotated their hands so that the back of her hand now faced him.

An identical ring design stared back at him. His eyes shifted to her, silently begging the question.

 _Did we…Did I-_

Even mentally, he couldn’t finish the question, the idea simply too terrifying to comprehend for a multitude of reasons he had been steadily avoiding for years now.

Arya visibly understood, nodding her head once in acknowledgement. While the rest of her face was calm and composed, her stormy eyes (so similar to his and his mother’s that when he was younger he had been convinced she was in fact **his** sister, not Robb’s) conveyed an anxiousness and fear that pained him to see on such a normally strong and self-assured young woman.

“Can I see it?” he asked quietly, no judgment or condemnation in his voice. Contrary to what he had intended, her trepidation visibly increased as she held out her left hand for him to examine the ring. His sharp eyes missed none of the details of the ring. Despite being only a band, it was uniformly silver, no blemishes in the metal or visible thinning in the design anywhere. The engraving itself: ‘Forever Yours’ brought back fond memories of their youth together when they had first become thick as thieves.

Jon smiled as he looked at the calligraphy of the two words on the matched set. He held up his right hand to compare the two rings side by side. Identical down to the slight flourish at the beginning of ‘Forever.’ He let out a breath as his smile inched upwards.

“Well, at least I have good taste in rings.” He remarked, looking up at her at last.

Immediately, a spark of defiance familiar to anyone who had met Arya for five minutes entered her gaze. Just as he’d hoped.

“What do you mean; you have good taste in rings?” She asked tartly. “What makes you so sure **I** didn’t pick the rings out?” She demanded, pulling her hand back so she could place both on her hips: embarrassment and trepidation now equally gone in the face of her indignation over Jon’s supposed presumption.

Jon shrugged, looking innocently over at the wall as he smiled a bit.

“Well,” he started, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. “I think we both remember that the last time you proposed to anyone, it was that boy Micah in kindergarten. And as I seem to recall, you tied a loop of twine around his finger.”

Arya snorted in remembrance. “So what? In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve grown up since then.” She said with the anxiety in her eyes almost completely gone now.

“Gasp! When did this happen?!” Jon asked facetiously, laughing uproariously when Arya tried to leap on top of him to smack his chest and shoulders.

As they rough housed a bit, they managed a return to something resembling the position they had awoken in: Arya atop Jon, staring down at him.

For a moment, Jon thought Arya was going to lean in to kiss him. And then she tucked her head under his chin before she started sniffling, her eyes watering even as her mouth was firmly fixed in a tremulous smile.

“What is it? What’s the matter Arya?” he asked, his hands resting on her back once more.

“I-I’m just glad you d-don’t hate me.” She sniffed quietly, one or two tears falling onto his chest.

He shook his head in denial. That train of thought had never even occurred to him during this whole episode.

“No. Never you Arya. I could never hate you.” He reassured her as he stared at the ceiling, deciding it definitely wouldn't do to tell her that he hated himself for taking advantage of her like this and making a mockery of something that was supposed to be special to her; not done on a drunken whim in the night.

“…But you don’t even k-know what happened last night.” She objected softly. In that moment she sounded very much like she had when they were younger and after a particularly heinous week of what seemed to be a constant string of upsets both at school as well as at home, she had tearfully asked Jon to promise her that he’d always be a friend to her: that he wouldn’t forget her and leave her behind.

_His heart ached now as it had then remembering the forlornness of her voice one of the only times she had begged him for anything. I’m forever yours he remembered answering her. And nothing in this world or the next is ever going to change that._

“I know you.” He told her firmly, his right hand stroking her hair methodically. He knew nothing more had to be said. So far as Jon was concerned, that was all he needed to know to make a judgement about what had happened between them last night.

As they stayed in that still moment for what seemed an eternal minute, she slowly sat upright again, eyes now dry and visibly relieved.

“So what do we do now?” She asked, her expression focused in spite of their continued nudity.

“Now?” Jon sat up so that they were face to face. “We get up. We get dressed. We figure out where we are. We go back to where we were. And along the way, we see if we can’t find the others.”

Had he known what they would discover after dressing and leaving the hotel, Jon would’ve sincerely regretted the last thought that crossed his mind before they set out to find their answers.

_I mean, we’re already married to each other. Compared to that, what’s the craziest thing we could’ve possibly done last night?_


	4. Mostly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon & Arya attempt to retrace their steps.

As she and Jon had stepped out of the front door of their hotel and onto the sidewalk on the bustling streets of Kingsland, Arya’s right eye was twitching uncontrollably. If someone were to ask her why she was so visibly annoyed, that answer would have to boil down to one thing. Well ok, maybe several things that added up to make her look like her right eyelid was having its own private stress fit.

“…At least we know we’re probably welcome back there anytime.” Jon remarked, his face still somewhat red from their reception that had awaited when they entered the lobby.

“They. Gave. A. Standing. Ovation.” Arya ground out through clenched teeth, right eye still continuing to twitch as she whirled to give Jon the jumpiest stink-eye a man had ever received.

“I really don’t think it was about-“ Jon began before being cut off by Arya once again. She was decidedly not in the mood to be pacified, not even by him.

“They. Gave. A. Standing. Ovation.” she hissed, her right index finger poking him in the chest as menacingly as she could.

Jon decided not to say anything in response. One of his wisest decisions today she thought. As her eye finally calmed down, she took a deep breath and forced her tense muscles to relax a bit. 

“Anyway, do you have any idea where we start on this?” She asked him. “Because beyond being guilt-tripped by Jeyne into going to the bachelorette party at some place called Crack n’ Dams, I don’t remember last night at all.”

Jon cocked his head sideways, his unasked question obvious.

“It’s a place to admire pillar and stone sets trying to squeeze into very small tents.” She answered, deliberately waggling her eyebrows for emphasis.

Jon smacked his hand into his face in exasperation. “Arya!” he groaned into his palm.

Arya felt a grin light up her face. “Oh, what’s the matter? Don’t like the thought of your wife ogling some other man’s cock?” she asked in a faux tone of innocence that wouldn’t have deceived a half-witted goat.

Jon groaned again, dragging his hand down his face that held a larger blush than it had before. Arya could see his internal resolve to not even dignify her teasing with an answer. This of course meant she would just have to try all the harder to get him to react. 

“Anyway, where’s the last place you remember being?” she asked, allowing him to think she was dropping the subject.

“The last place I remember…” he mused aloud while his hand absentmindedly rubbed beginnings of a five o’clock shadow on his face.

 _Something so scratchy shouldn’t feel so nice._ She absently thought to herself, her memory choosing that moment to tease her chest and lips with the twin phantom sensations of his pliable lips and rough skin acting in concert. Almost as if her body was determined to get her to at least kiss him now that she had reached her startling epiphany back in the hotel room.

 _Stop it!_ She scolded herself mentally, fingers quickly pinching her right leg through the slightly ripped jeans she had apparently acquired sometime last night. _Just because I realized I was being more serious than I thought whenever I told Jon I loved him doesn’t mean I can tell him yet._

She still couldn’t believe that her panic over Jon’s reaction to her possibly having taken advantage of him last night had catalyzed such a shift in her worldview. But then again, she had to admit that the feelings Jon provoked in her weren’t really all that new. Only the context she viewed them in was different now.

Once the possibility of her favorite person hating her had abruptly been placed on the metaphorical table it had forced her to do a hell of a lot of thinking in a short amount of time. Especially when he had chosen instead to further inflame her feelings by holding her close and promising he would be there for her as he always had.

But all that could come later once things had settled down and **once his souvenirs stopped leaking into her damn panties.** She knew he probably hadn’t had any female company aside from Mrs. Palm and her Quintuplets after breaking up with Ygritte but this was just getting ridiculous! It had been over half an hour now and tickles were still managing to form small streams in her underwear!!

Jon abruptly snapped his fingers, derailing her current train of thought.

“I remember where the bachelor party was!” he exclaimed, his left hand automatically seeking out Arya’s right as he hailed a cab. “It was a lounge up near the historical section of the city, a place called Roland’s.”

As the bright orange car pulled up beside them, Jon automatically pulled Arya with him. She didn’t object for the moment since her memory had flashed when Jon had said the name Roland’s.

“I think I remember the place.” She said slowly, trying to gather her thoughts before they slipped through her mental fingers like grains of sand.

The cab pulled away from the curb as Jon settled next to her in the back seat, his treatment of her barely any different from how it had been before they were married. Arya wasn’t quite sure what that meant in terms of convincing him to stay in the marriage but she certainly wasn’t willing to bet against herself at this early stage of the game.

As Jon fumbled with his wallet, he pulled out an embossed golden card that had been haphazardly stuffed into the bill fold along with an unusual amount of bills. On it was the name Roland’s and underneath in slightly smaller writing a subtitle that read: ‘Kingslands Oldest Simple-Speak Bar’

“Unhealthy amount of red, gaudy black leather seating, stripper stage with no pole on it?” She asked. She needed to confirm it was the same place Jon remembered. Otherwise, it was a different part of the night and would be of no help in a place they hadn’t even crossed paths yet.

Jon turned to her in amazement. “That’s it!” He exclaimed. He took a moment to show the card to the driver so he’d know where to take them. “How do you know it?” He asked her, eyes focused on her as the driver began making his way through the early morning traffic.

Arya shrugged. “I guess I got bored and decided to join you guys.” She supposed. She blew out a frustrated breath at one of her bangs. Leaning back on the seat and stretching so the grey undershirt rode up a bit on her belly, she remarked:

“This would be so much easier if we had our phones though.”

Jon nodded, some frustration showing on his face even as his eyesight tracked down to the small strip of wispy hairs that started at Arya’s bellybutton and naturally led the eye downward into her jeans. She smirked inwardly as she noticed where exactly his wandering gaze found itself.

 _And that makes it Arya two, Jon nothing._ A mental voice that sounded surprisingly like her friend Missandei remarked with a dryness that would’ve made a dessert applaud.

Jon and Arya had both searched everywhere in the room and asked at the front desk but there was no sign of either of their cell phones. It had been a source of frustration for them both to not have their usual way of getting in contact with their friends or even of checking if there were phone calls that could’ve given them a partial timeline for the night.

“We could let Sansa at least know where we are.” Jon agreed. “We couldn’t really tell her anything that happened of course, but the option would be there anyway.” He went on, sharing a fond smile as they recalled all the times they had promised not to tell Sansa about their latest adventures for fear of her well-honed tattling instinct.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think we’d have at least one interesting thing to tell her.” she remarked, peripheral vision gauging his reaction.

Jon gave a slight start at that and then groaned before burying his head in his hands again. He was mumbling something into his hands but Arya couldn’t make out what it was. She turned to face him in the seat.

“Jon? What is it?” she asked, pulling his hands away from his face by the wrists.

His deadpan expression was telling her she should already know the answer to that question.

“Your parents and my mother are going to take it in turns to kill me.” He said calmly. For his matter of fact tone of voice, one could’ve been mistaken for thinking him a prophet pronouncing a judgment from on high that had no chance of being changed. Arya was somewhat startled since she’d forgotten completely about that minor set of details.

 _Shitshitshit!_ She thought rapidly while trying to be very careful about not letting those thoughts show on her face.

Evidently she was unsuccessful since Jon snorted and turned his head to face out the window while his hands retreated to his side of the car.

“Exactly.” He said. Arya wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“No, not exactly.” She rebutted, scooting closer to him. “You don’t know that your mother will kill you. For all you know she’ll approve!” she argued. Arya refused to believe that her Aunt Lyanna, the person in the family the most like her personality-wise, would tell her she was wrong for loving Jon the way that she did.

“That doesn’t change the fact that your mother and father will want you to annul it as soon as possible.” Jon answered with a tone devoid of emotion that made Arya think he was already trying to distance himself from any strong feelings he may have had about their union and them by extension so as not to be hurt when what he saw as the inevitable happened.

 _No! Fuck that!_ She thought angrily. She was not going to lose this for anything! Not after only having just realized she had been yearning for it for so long.

“How about you promise not to slip into the drama queen act and I promise to cross that bridge with you when it comes?” She offered, putting her right arm around his shoulders and leaning her head against the side of his. Partly it was to remind him that her parents weren’t here and she was and that she wanted to be here in this position thank you very much. And it was also partly just to feel close to him. To be able to physically express her affection for him. Nothing wrong with a wife wanting that with her husband as far as she knew.

His left arm went around her shoulders in return and his lips gently alighted upon the top of her head. She could barely contain her grin when she felt him chuckle into her hair. 

“Whatever the little lady wants.” He said.

About an hour later, they reached Roland’s. Arya had felt such comfort in the familiar silence with him that she'd almost forgotten where they were going. But once they came to the place’s front, she got some flashes of memory.

Of walking in through the front door to find Jon and the rest. Of spotting them so near the stage and seeing…

“So, we just check with the bartender and see if they have any idea where the others are?” She asked him, startled at the flash of angry red that had clouded her vision when she tried to remember what the bachelor party could’ve possibly been doing that would make her feel so strongly.

“Sounds like a good jumping off point.” Jon said. He minutely adjusted the belt keeping his own black jeans up, red button up shirt seeming a bit too big on him to be his own original shirt. Arya still couldn’t understand how they could’ve started the night dressed simply but nicely and ended up looking like a pair of overgrown teenage runaways.

 _Ah well._ She thought to herself as they strode in. _That’s what we’re here to find out right?_

As they came in, they were noticed by the bartender. A slight girl who appeared to be closer to Sansa’s age rather than Jon’s, she had silver hair and what appeared to be violet eyes from this distance.

“Excuse me miss?” Jon called, making a beeline for her.

“Yes, how can I help-“ The platinum blonde began as she looked up before abruptly stopping upon catching sight of the two of them.

“Yeah, hi.” Jon said nervously. “I’m not sure you know me, my name is-“

“Jon Snow.” She finished, briefly shaking his hand. She took him in before shaking her head slightly. “The man who provoked the Lady in Red into fighting over him.”

“The who?” Arya asked sharply, not liking the implication one bit.

The bartender looked at Arya strangely. “You of all people should remember her miss.” She said slowly, as though Arya was being deliberately dense.

“And why should I of all people remember her?” Arya snapped, knowing she shouldn't get snippy with such a promising lead but would be working against years of condescending attitude reactions to do so.

“Because you were the one who picked a fight with her when she finished singing her song for your friend Mr. Snow here and was offering to bare his children.” She said.

Arya and Jon were silent for a long moment, Jon growing ashen in his countenance while Arya felt all the blood rush to her face as she remembered what she had seen. How the scarlet haired woman had been singing directly too Jon on and off the stage with that little number, what was it again? Something about just one dance?

 _Just one mattress dance more like._ Arya’s jealousy thought spitefully: remembering now how Jon’s eyes had seemed to be drawn to every curve of the woman’s red dress, every flip of her bloody colored hair.

And then the offer had happened. Where the woman in red had told Jon he would make beautiful children before offering to be their mother. Everyone was a few yards beyond tipsy at that point already so while the rest of the boys had laughed, Arya had snarled.

“B-Be that as it may,” Jon started with a stutter, the first time Arya had ever heard him do so. “We’re just trying to find out friends we were with. Do you happen to know where they are?” He asked.

A slight flush came to the bartender’s face.

“Well, I’m not sure where the rest are, but I know where your dwarven friend is.” She told him, looking down at the glass she had been meaning to clean abruptly.

Jon sighed, seemingly back on familiar ground.

“He went home with you didn’t he?” He asked, plopping himself down on the stool in front of her.

She looked up like a startled hare. “How did you-“

“It’s not the first time something like this has happened,” He paused to glance at her nametag. “Danenerys. Is he ok?”

“Well, of course he’s ok.” She answered. “Though I was surprised to have to bail him out of the holding cells the same night I met him.”

“Bail him out? Bail him out why?” Arya asked, claiming the stool next to Jon.

“Well, because of the bar brawl he claims he got dragged into.” She answered.

“The what?!” Jon and Arya exclaimed together.


	5. Frequently.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion insinuates, Jon punches, Arya kicks.

Shireen was going to be pissed, Bran just knew it. And it wasn’t even his idea that had gotten him into this in the first place! Well, ok. Maybe it had been, but that was entirely beside the point. Besides, how else was he supposed to help throw everyone in Stannis’s club off the scent when the bachelor party had made their escape?

He sighed to himself from the hospital bed as Nurse Westerling once again shut down Robb’s clumsily awkward advances in favor of checking to make sure that Bran wasn’t experiencing complications from his ‘accident’ with the taxi cab in front of Roland’s. As she left the room, he reflected for what felt like the millionth time that if he never had to deal with the pleasantly sterile décor of a hospital again it would be too soon. And that was without even getting into the condescension he seemed to encounter no matter which doctor or nurse he saw in whatever hospital he so happened to become a houseguest at.

He kept telling them he was perfectly fine, but would they believe him? Oh no. After all, how could the cripple possibly be expected to know whether or not he’s experiencing problems with an already compromised system?

He blew some rogue bangs of brown hair out of his face. He knew he was being unfair to the physicians. They were only trying to make sure everything was done by the book so that there was minimal possibility of complications from something they did. But it still didn’t stop him from getting impatient every time he had to be in the hospital and suffer through the same litany of triple-checking every test when he just wanted to be in and out.

“BRANDON AND ROBBERT STARK!” He heard from the hallway. His heart stopped for a moment as he wondered if his mother had come to personally skin him alive for getting into the stupidly daring spirit of the bachelor party the previous night.

If he wasn’t so scared of the fury contained in that voice himself, he would have laughed at the sudden color of pale milk that his brother Robb’s face turned and the stricken demeanor that implied he feared imminent death in a matter of moments.

The door slammed open to reveal their sister Sansa, Gendry’s future bride to be. While normally her beautiful copper hair and fair features would be a treat to see, the wrathful look in her blue eyes and almost snarl her small mouth was fixed in made him instinctively want to curl up and protect his head from the implied beating.

“Where. Is. Gendry?!” She enunciated carefully, striding toward the foot of his bed with a purpose while glaring burning daggers at Robb and at him in turns.

Bran knew he should probably try to help his older brother out. Should, but wouldn’t. When the women in their family went on the warpath, it generally turned into an every man for himself scramble to get out of the line of fire.

_‘And honestly, after that time you told her what happened with her dented car door: you’re on your own.’_ He thought to himself, deliberately relaxing into his pillows and bed so to appear as non-threatening and vulnerable as possible. It most likely wasn’t working if one was judging solely by the tightening of her grip on the metal barred foot of the bed.  
Or maybe it was just because Robb was stammering incoherently and appeared unable or unwilling to give a straightforward answer about Gendry’s current location.

_‘Come to think of it, the last place **I** remember seeing Gendry is leaving Roland’s with Jon, Tyrion and Arya.’_ Bran realized with a jolt.

Sansa was unsatisfied with Robb’s attempts at placating via non-answers. As she whirled toward him, she must have caught on that Bran remembered something. She stalked around the side of the bed toward him. As she did, Bran couldn’t help but think of the direwolves their father had officially donated to the Riverland National Zoo back when he was a boy.

He distinctly remembered two things about them. The intelligent shine in their eyes that perhaps his youthful memory had exaggerated with nostalgia. And the ruthless looking prowling they did when they sensed it was feeding time.

Sansa was forcefully reminding him of the fact that after seeing them tear into some raw meat; he had never quite been able to watch horror movies involving werewolves without involuntarily twitching or flinching.

“Is there something you think I should know Brandon?” She asked in that softly dangerous tone their lady mother often did when she discovered them goofing off with Jon when they were supposed to be studying or practicing.

“L-last I saw,” he stuttered, flushing a bit from the involuntary give in his voice. “He left Roland’s with Jon, Arya and Tyrion. Wouldn’t they know where he is?”

She leaned so close he could smell her breath. He idly noted a hint of peppermint.

“Don’t you think if I could get an answer out of them, I would have found him before I came here?” She whispered. “None of them are answering their cells. Arya never came back to our room last night. So until I can find them, I’ll have to make do with you and Robb.”

Bran gulped as she said: “Now why don’t we go back to the beginning of the evening?”

He sincerely hoped Jon and Arya had Gendry somewhere. Otherwise, well…

Bran Stark began to desperately spill his guts to his sweet, gentle older sister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ah, there’s the happy couple now!” Tyrion called cheerfully from the inside of Daenerys’s apartment before she had even fully opened the door.

Jon stalled in the hallway briefly as Dany (as she had insisted he and Arya call her) fully opened it and led the way in. Arya stumbled into the door frame for a moment but otherwise showed no sign of having registered his flat mate’s comment.

_‘Nothing good can come of this, I just know it.’_ His pessimistic inner voice sounded off, fretting like an over-anxious Sam who just knew he had walked to class naked and now was going to be forced to take the year end exams he hadn’t studied for in the least.

Ok, so maybe Tyrion himself wasn’t that bad, but he wasn’t exactly the first person Jon would’ve pegged to tell about his new-found relationship with Arya. Especially since so much was still up in the air about it at the moment.

He tried not to let his mood become any lower when his thoughts brushed against the inevitable knowledge of his impending annulment to Arya bubble to the surface.

_‘Maybe she’ll let me mope for ten minutes if I call myself a Drama King?’_ He thought in a burst of absurd optimism, imagining her face when he proposed the deal.

He lost his train of thought as he finally got a glimpse of the young bartender’s inner sanctum. It was a modest place, only a few pieces of furniture with a single island counter nearby the fridge serving as what passed as a kitchen setup. There were some old Dothraki pieces of artwork involving horses and some meerenese knock-offs on the end-table near the window but no pictures of friends and family he could see.

Despite the bareness of the furnishings though, he could tell that his new acquaintance was very invested in what she had. There were few paintings that he suspected she had crafted herself scattered around the place, the furniture showed multiple signs of hard living and tender care and most of all, she beamed while letting out a small sigh of satisfaction once she had entered the air conditioned living room of her modest abode.

He heard the door to the bedroom creak and automatically looked to face the noise. Tyrion emerged. He looked worn, bruised and happier than Jon could remember him being before.

“Jon Snow as I live and breathe!” Tyrion greeted boisterously. His tone was distinctly nasal up close as the bandage covered it almost entirely. Jon noted that the smaller man’s fingers had multiple wrappings on them and his walk was even stiffer than usual.

“Are you alright Tyrion?” he asked, his first concern the injuries his roommate had apparently sustained in a bar brawl sometime last night. He felt a pang of guilt that he had been… **vigorously** enjoying himself with Arya’s company when his arguably best friend (excluding his cousin/new wife and gods above how weird was that clarification?) was getting injured and arrested.

“Never been better, thank you for asking.” He answered with a smile as Dany knelt to give him a hug. He protested mock loudly even as Jon noticed the genuine wince that went through his undersized body despite the gentleness of her embrace.

“I have charming company that doesn’t think to play dwarf toss to entertain herself, I now know that Gendry owes me seventy-five stags and best of all:” He paused as if to relish the last item on his list of why he was doing so well this morning.

“You and your new bride managed to make my repulsive cousin Joffrey more tolerable by making his outside match his cunty insides.” He finished with a flourish, pulling himself up onto Dany’s couch with a sigh of satisfaction.

Jon and Arya looked at each other in alarm before simultaneously turning to Tyrion.

“We did what now?!” He heard himself exclaim in unison with his cousin. Jon wanted to laugh at how in-sync they were to say the same thing at the same time like a couple that had been married for years. Then he remembered that he and Arya had been able to do that almost from the time she had learned to communicate in actual sentences and not flailing limbs or drool flecked babbling.

“Oh, it’s quite the tale!” Tyrion insisted. “Get comfortable, this is probably going to take awhile.” He continued, patting the seat cushions to his left as Dany took her place at his right closest to the window so that the sun made her hair seem like spun silver. As Jon took his seat beside Tyrion, he didn’t even notice that his left hand was entwined with Arya’s right yet again. Arya settled on the arm of the couch as a smile tugged at her lips even as her eyes riveted to Tyrion in anticipation of his story.

Taking a deep breath, Tyrion Lannister began reciting the tale of his favorite part of the previous evening’s debauchery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_**Sometime Yesterday Night…** _

Tyrion was by no means a lightweight drinker. There was an old saying about how to survive living in the Lannister family that explained it nicely. If it can make you believe you shit gold: use it, take it, do what you have to in order to keep a steady supply of it coursing in your veins.

Well, maybe that was just something he and Jaime had come up with while getting high once, but it was still extremely valid. With a sister like Cersei, cousins that alternated between unbearable (Joffrey), dull (Lancel) and sanctimonious (Kevan) on top of their lord father’s rigidly controlled idea of what they should be it was no wonder.

But still, it was times like this he occasionally wished he was a bit of a light drinking sort of fellow so he could’ve been safely blacked out and thus not forced to keep his dinner down while watching his best friend and his best friend’s tomboy cousin dance around each other like a pair of wolves that had never heard of mating yet desperately wanted to do so.

He decided this would require some tact and subtle cajoling after the not-so-accidental groping the two had engaged in at Roland’s earlier tonight. And the casino. And the buffet.

“Would you two just fuck and get it over with already?!” Tyrion demanded impatiently. He nodded to indicate his sage agreement with himself and his words of drunken wisdom.

_‘What does that make it now? Something like seven for seven tonight? Or is it seven for eleven?’_ Tyrion wondered to himself as he alternated between pride in his diplomatic acumen and confusion at his sudden inability to calculate fractions.

They both attempted to flip him the bird using their index finger (Jon) and pinkie (Arya).

“Would that make it a two-thirdsome or a one and a half penetration?” Tyrion asked blithely, wondering how in the hell they expected him to join their bed after the invitation they’d extended that classically pretty girl they’d met in the casino earlier. The girl had appeared receptive to the idea to say the least. That is, if her sensual kiss with first Jon and then Arya was any indication.

What was her name again…Mookie, Muggy, Maggie?

Tyrion abruptly began snorting into his drink, catching Gendry and Jon by surprise.

“Whazz sho funndie?” Gendry slurred, barely able to keep track of the triplet of Tyrions that filled his line of sight.

“Ribbit!” Tyrion wheezed, laughing hysterically. “Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbitttttpphhhhtttt!” He finished as the last croak turned into a raspberry even while his hands pounded the table in ribald amusement at his own hilarious joke.

“Are-are we doing da wild thing agains?” Jon asked, left arm slung around Arya, who was observing Tyrion with slightly crossed eyes and a somewhat suspiciously big grin. Her occasional inebriated hiccups hinted at a possible factor in her wide smile.

“Oh, in that case, I wanna try!” The female Stark interjected. There was a pause for a time as Tyrion finally began to calm down before Arya almost had him roll off his stool when she made a strange sort of mooing sound.

Gendry stared about a foot to the left of Arya.

“…Da heal waz dat?” He asked as he almost fell backward into the swarthy man behind him.

Jon laughed. His left hand clapped Arya on the back even as he took another drink from the bartender who was sporting a old but nasty looking burn on his face.

But then a gratingly pompous voice interrupted their fun.

“Well, well cousin. I didn’t expect to find you here. What’s the matter, law school become too much for a man with such numerous shortcomings?” Came Joffrey Lannister from behind them.

“Oh goodie, I was just wondering what I needed to ruin my appetite tonight.” Tyrion remarked, turning toward the bar again. Even drunk off his tits, he refused to face his repulsive relative unless it was absolutely necessary.

_‘But wait, if he’s here…than that must mean-’_

Tyrion’s thoughts were interrupted by his sister’s voice joining in on her favorite pastime: gang-up on Tyrion.

“Tut, tut Tyrion. If only Jaime and father could see you now.” His sister chastised in mock sorrow. Tyrion could hear that self-satisfied smirk even without looking. Though he also noticed she was a bit more open with her sadistic glee than usual.

“My goodness, is that you Cersei?” He answered in mock astonishment. “I would’ve expected you to remember father’s lessons on speaking with your mouth full. But seeing as how Joffrey’s cock obviously isn’t **that** filling, I suppose that makes it an exception to the rule hmmm?”

Before Joffrey could do more than sputter in outrage over his wounded ego, Tyrion noticed Jon getting up out of his stool from the corner of his eye.

“Now, now.” Jon cajoled, slinging his right arm around his repulsive cousin as though they were old friends. “This is a night for celbu-“

He cleared his throat and tried again.

“This is a night for cola-“

Jon shrugged before joyously waving his hand in Gendry’s general direction.

“He’s putting a ring on my cousin’s finger!” He shouted gaily.

“Whose got a ring?!” Gendry shouted back in confusion, looking around wildly.

“And why should I care?” Joffrey asked, glaring at Jon with open disdain.

“Well,” Jon continued unpeturbed. He subtly shifted Joffrey’s position so that they were facing Arya. Tyrion couldn’t tell, but he suspected that Snow’s cousin was doing that freaky thing with his friend where she exchanged a look with him before they did something that would catch everyone off-guard.

Tyrion wondered to himself why they hadn’t gotten together earlier. He knew plenty of couples who had been married for years and didn’t communicate or didn’t get along nearly as well.

_‘Unfortunately, so many of them seem to be within my own family.’_ Tyrion thought sourly.

Though he suspected Ned Stark’s somewhat rigid code of ethics, Lyanna Stark nee Snow’s estrangement from the Stark family and Catelyn Stark’s acute sense of propriety probably had something to do with their hesitance to acknowledge or act on any feelings toward each other when sober.

“My dear cousin and I have a special drinking just for honored guests like you.” Jon said, moving Joffrey slightly closer. Tyrion turned a bit in his seat to observe, sure that there was something more going on. Jon had heard plenty of stories from Tyrion about the single most stuck up Lannister that ever existed (and that was quite a list considering it included such illustrious members such as his father Tywin and Grandfather Lann) and he very much doubted the bastard Stark held any great love for the waste of a human life that was his cousin.

“See we give you three special shots first and then we follow it up with a special gut buster.” Jon explained, almost shoving Joffrey in front of him.

“And what sort of drinks are these?” Joffrey was confident no one could possibly wish him ill.

“We call them:” Jon’s right fist abruptly drew back behind Joffrey before it abruptly slammed into his side, under his ribs but above his waist.

“Kidney shot!” He called once.

“Kidney shot!” He called twice.

“Kidney shot!” He called the third time. All of these had happened in less than half a minute.

“And now the gut buster we call:” Jon started before Arya finished, her right foot slamming with all the strength her frame could muster into his twat of a cousin’s dangleberries. The Lannister more commonly known as the Imp thought he heard something crunch at this point.

“Cunt Punt!” She finished, grinning as Joffrey’s mouth emitted a squeal so high pitched Tyrion instinctively looked to see if any bats were going to swoop down on them.

Cersei responded by abruptly bringing her open palm to meet Jon’s left cheek, sending him spinning into a nearby table. Tyrion was pretty sure she didn’t expect Arya to respond by smashing her own palm into Cersei’s right cheek, cell phone in hand.

_‘When in the seven hells did she take that out?’_ Tyrion wondered to himself as the phone broke apart on impact on his sister’s face from the force. But Arya managed to cup her slap just right. The cellphone pieces remained on his snotty sibling’s face while Arya proceded to slam her head into the bar, knocking her out cold.

“Why didja hit dose gurls?!” Gendry yelled incredulously, wildly gesturing arms accidentally knocking over the drink behind him.

“Bar fight!” Tyrion yelled excitedly, taking this opportunity to throw a bottle at the head of one of his sister’s more sycophantic friends.

Things rapidly devolved into chaos from there.

Tyrion was wielding a barstool as his weapon of choice, having lost track of the others through the forest of legs and prone and groaning bodies his immediate surroundings had become. He felt something knock into the back of his head and then…nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_**Meanwhile, In The Present Day...** _

In another part of Kingsland, there was a young man recovering in a private suite. A golden haired girl his own age entered tentatively, an imprint on her cheek of what appeared to be a numerical keypad. She had already sworn to end her twin brother’s life for laughing himself sick at her alleged ‘keyboard face.’

“How are you my love?” She asked tenderly, taking a careful seat by his bedside.

He turned his head toward her, most of the right side of his face swollen. But his eyes looked haunted. Strained. She knew he had made many enemies among the people of Kingsland even as she knew they were equally mistaken for simply not recognizing his magnificent spirit.

His voice came out, not in the smooth tone she had grown accustomed to, but the impotent squeak of a register that no human voice was meant to go so high.

“There were over one hundred filthy commoners there last night.” He said, his voice slow as though she were dim. She swallowed her irritation at his usual condescension even in the face of last night’s events.

“Over seventy-five of them kicked me in the dick. Repeatedly.” He continued.

They were silent for a moment before he shrieked at her like a maddened harriden.

“Why did they keep kicking me in the dick?!?!”

Cersei Lannister had no answer for her beloved cousin Joffrey.


	6. Often.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interested party reflects on what caught their interest.

If one were asked to think of a word to describe the relationship between the Tyrell and Stark families, they could most easily use the word stable followed closely by the word strained. If one was to follow up on this line of questioning because they apparently have nothing better to do with their time, then they could be treated to either a pithy quip about frozen faces and colder attitudes if they were to ask Olenna Tyrell or a lecture about frivolity and excessive expense where it wasn’t necessary if they were to ask Eddard Stark or even a passive-aggressive shot of embracing non-traditional ideas with far too much enthusiasm if they were to ask Catelyn Stark. (Nobody generally cared enough about Mace Tyrell’s opinion to bother asking him. Though that certainly never stopped him from trying to give it.)

But in Margaery Tyrell’s rarely asked opinion, it was because the two families weren’t the same kind of money.

The Starks were what people might refer to as Old Money. People whose family had been able to successfully turn a profit in things generation after generation no matter what they put their minds to primarily because they were cautious once they had acquired their fortune way back when and weren’t prone to excess and overindulgence.

Whereas her own family, The Tyrells, were New Money. People who had only managed to reach the upper tier of society within the last four generations. And so despite their needing to be more dynamic and better risk takers just to reach the same level as the Lannisters and the Starks, they were still looked down upon by the families because they were new blood who supposedly didn’t understand how tradition kept a family alive once it had started to make its way in the world.

But Margaery was pretty sure that was changing within the Starks already if Lyanna Stark’s willing estrangement from the family for having a child out of wedlock and then refusing to name the father was any indication.

She honestly had to admire the woman. She’d stood up to the disapproval and pressure of her entire family and managed to not only win their grudging respect of her sheer bull-headed stubbornness, but also did so in such a way that she could still count them as her allies when she went into Frost Pharmaceuticals and quickly rose through the ranks. She hadn’t been nearly as well off as she might’ve under the protective embrace of the Stark family, but one couldn’t say Lyanna Stark-sorry, Lyanna Snow now: was wanting for anything in life.

And just last evening, Margaery had gotten acquainted with her son Jon. Who had seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit if his uninhibited behavior with his cousin Arya was any indication. Her tongue absent-mindedly darted out to moisten her lips as she stretched and the covers slipped down her nude milky skin while her mind wandered back to the night before. She so liked the…distinctly **exciting** possibilities it presented.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_**Sometime Yesterday Evening…** _

Margaery Tyrell was in the middle of an uninhibited masque party where the slot machines were ringing, the liquor was flowing freely, the food was good, the people were happy and she was absolutely bored out of her goddamn mind.

Oh sure, it had been naughty and titillating the first three times she had attended events like this in Kingsland, seeing people at their most extravagant. But after a while it all started to blur together: one big colorful streak occasionally punctuated by a promising looking ass or a perky pair of breasts. She didn’t exactly care which gender her chosen partner fell under so long as they proved satisfying. And sadly, it seemed more and more like the people she found at these things wouldn’t know the meaning of the word satisfaction if it had tied them up and spanked them while demanding they call it daddy.

Loras had dragged her out to this because he was in the off-again phase of his ever fluctuating relationship with Renly Baratheon, this time because Renly refused to admit to them being a couple while they were in public while they were on an overseas vacation. Margaery supposed she could’ve been able to understand Renly’s position if he wasn’t so deeply in denial about what his choice boiled down to: he could be open and accept the consequences or repressed and miserable like Stannis.

But in any case here she was, wearing a reddish brown fox mask that managed to blend nicely with her chestnut hair and lower white half framed her lips nicely. As she looked around, she was bumped into by a pair of people giggling in a way that suggested they were enjoying the alcohol a little more than was probably necessary.

 _‘Well, they’re certainly a treat to behold.’_ She thought to herself, brown eyes automatically giving their forms a once over and finding that they liked what they saw.

The man was well built but slender, with dark curly hair that just begged to have fingers run through it. He was wearing a raven mask with holes that served to highlight the most absolutely striking grey eyes she had ever seen. She had seen all manner of green, blue and brown eyes. She had heard the Targaryen family occasionally produced a light enough blue to be mistaken for lilac, but she had never before encountered a pair of grey eyes. Especially not ones that seemed to hint at unseen depths in the person that wielded them to such devastating effect.

The young woman with him was no less of a looker herself. A bit on the petite side height wise but certainly not wanting for curves, she seemed to be one of those people who could appear youthful enough to be a younger sibling even when they were getting into their forties. Her hair was so brown it could be mistaken for black in certain lights, but it was only long enough to reach the midpoint of her neck. Which honestly seemed a shame to Margaery since the parts of it that had been allowed to grow out seemed to make it shimmer in waves that many women would need to spend at least an hour in the mirror getting just so and yet this mystery treat managed to pull off while snickering in a clearly inebriated fashion behind a horse mask whose long nose did nothing to detract from grey eyes that were strikingly identical to the raven’s.

 _‘A brother and sister?’_ She briefly wondered to herself. But then she saw the man press himself to the lady’s backside, the visible tenting in his front clearly expressing a physical desire as old as time that wasn’t often found between blood relations. Well, outside of the tawdry romance novels her brother sometimes ghost-wrote with her under their shared penname. And that he could clearly never wear speedos to the beach without the over-taxed thing snapping like a weirwood twig the first time he saw something he liked.

“F-Foxy.” The horse girl slurred a bit, elbowing him lightly in the side while clearly looking at Margaery.

“Why thanks dear heart.” The raven preened a bit. “I do try for occasions like this.”

“Like what now?” The horse asked in confusion, looking at him suddenly.

“If you insist!” The raven celebrated, his right hand shooting to her breast.

Margaery’s left eyebrow raised in confusion and astonishment. What in the world could’ve prompted that?

Horse didn’t slap his hand away but instead elbowed Raven again as he continued massaging her breast shamelessly, pointing insistently at Margaery even as she moved into his caressing fingeers. Long dexterous fingers that could reach just about anywhere to Margaery's discerning eye.

He looked at her before he emitted a confused “Who?”

As if on some mutually understood cue, the two lifted their masks and kissed each other, their lips fusing in a heated exchange of saliva that turned intimate enough as to almost make Margaery feel bad that they were giving her a free show. Almost, but not quite.

They really were extraordinarily attractive after all.

They finished their kiss, grinning unashamedly before they turned to Margaery, masks still resting on their foreheads. Their facial structures spoke to shared blood, perhaps as close as a generation back. Perhaps they were cousins?

The boy looked at her then looked at the girl in his arms for a moment before asking a single question. “Foxy head turning tryout?”

His paramour nodded firmly. “Winning gets dog **and or** pony.” She proclaimed as though it were a judgment from on high before she whispered theatrically: “Losing gets everyone clinkety clinked.”

The man pointed at himself. “Birdy.” He corrected pointedly.

“Who?” She asked innocently. They kissed again. Margaery stepped closer, her right eyebrow joining her left as she wondered if she had ingested some of her ex Tommen’s fun-time brownies without realizing it earlier. Because either she was getting high off of something or they were. And if it was them, she really needed to find out what it was and how she could get some.

As they broke apart again, they both turned to Margaery, eyes glinting with a promise of mischief that excited her more than anything else tonight.

“Come on foxy.” Raven said, holding out a hand to beckon her. “We need to get going before someone gets our you know whats.”

The girl grabbed his crotch once he finished saying whats.

She strode up to his hand, shaking it politely as she gave her best smile to them.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Margaery Tyrell. And who might you two charming creatures be?”

The girl made his crotch jump in her hand. “This is Longclaw. It’s attached to Jon Snow.”

The Raven whose name she now knew was Jon waved at her with his left hand, seemingly enjoying the attention the Horse was giving him.

“I’m Arya Stark.” She finished. “And before this night is out, I’m going to reach my goal of getting kisses from them.”

“Kisses from?” Margaery prompted. Her mind was moving through calculations. The girl was Stark. The boy was named Snow. They had to be cousins: she the daughter of Eddard Stark and he the son of Lyanna Snow. This was all getting very interesting.

“Longclaw and Jon of course.” She answered as though it was abundantly obvious.

"Only if I get to tongue her and her Needle." He interjected, eyes glancing obviously at her crotch.

…Very interesting indeed.

She gladly followed them to the slot machines. Over the course of ten pulls of the lever they didn’t manage to win much, mostly losing the coins they gaily lost in it. But on the tenth pull…

Well, if ever the universe was trying to tell her to go for the gusto, the huge flashing lights screaming jackpot for everyone surrounding them to see was probably one of the clearest signs she could’ve asked for as they started to jump and whoop in time to the sirens going off above the machine.

She quickly moved their masks down over their faces before pulling her own down, making sure that when what was obviously a news crew came forward, they only managed to identify them as Raven, Horse and Fox as they moved away after giving one of the most genuinely entertaining and frank interviews Margaery could ever recall seeing.

When they were outside yet close to the entrance, Margaery was stopped by Jon and Arya as they pulled off their masks. They exchanged another one of those looks they had been shooting back and forth all night. She had been observing them all night, trying to decipher the various levels and meanings of looks they sent while pulling the levers and talking with each other and her.

“So Margaery,” Jon started, his left arm draped around Arya for equal parts comfort and support of his own balance.

“Who do you w-an- like as a reward?” Arya asked, her right hand resting on Jon’s ass casually.

“Well.” Margaery pretended to ponder while moving in close to the two of them.

“Who.” She said, while moving in to kiss Jon. His lips were soft, and his mouth opened in surprise. As she opened her own mouth, she felt his tongue slip in like a thief in the night. _‘She’s certainly taught him thoroughly and well.’_ Margaery thought approvingly.

As they drew back from each other, Jon appeared surprised and slightly dazed. Arya looked on, her hand still on Jon’s ass, smirking at her cousin’s gobsmacked expression.

“Or what.” Margaery continued, kissing Arya sensually while running her hands over the girl’s top curves enticingly. Even through a bra and shirt, she could feel the girl’s nipples pebble under her careful ministrations and heard her quiet gasp as her caresses aroused such pleasurable feelings in her.

She pulled back from them.

“Says I have to choose between you?” She hinted in a husky tone that was genuine for the first time since she could remember. She winked before heading back toward the casino, passing a small man who was coming up to the two from behind. “Have a good night.” She called merrily.

“What on earth was that all about?” She heard the little man demand incredulously as she entered again.

She found Loras by the bar again, his deer mask on his forehead as he put back another shot.

“The hell were you up to?” He asked, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“Oh, just discovering some untapped potential.” She answered coyly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_**Back in the present…** _

As she finished stretching, she proceeded to pick up the remote and turn the tv on. She headed into her bathroom to take a shower while only half listening to the local news.

“And last night, we had quite the show over at Maegor’s Garden.” The anchor announced, a grin in their voice. “Our very own Talisa Magnar was fortunate enough to witness the big winners of last night’s slot jackpot and managed to catch a word with them just after. Talisa?”

Margaery’s grin widened as the hot water met her flesh. She’d definitely be finding those two soon. That was the most fun she’d had since she couldn't remember when.

And she was so eager to see what **more** she could have with them.


End file.
